


Quidditch Injuries

by mcal



Series: Jamione Drabbles [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Minor Injuries, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 05:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: A drabble I found on my tumblr page. Completely AU, Hermione is a year older than the Marauders and at Hogwarts still for healer training with Madam Pomfrey. And James keeps getting injuries...





	Quidditch Injuries

**Author's Note:**

> Unalpha’d and unbeta’d fun 💙 I own no part of the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

* * *

“You’re an absolute idiot, James Potter.” 

A smile broke across his face, splitting and cracking the dried blood on his lips, and,  _ Merlin _ , that hurt, but worth it. So very worth it. Because Hermione Granger, the fittest healer intern that had ever existed, had  spoken to him. Had addressed  _him_ directly. 

Sirius had been right: Lily was never going to look twice at him. Even with all he’d done to take on extra responsibilities this year as Head Boy, she’d kept her frosty, silent distance, glaring and stiffly accepting his patrol charts, begrudgingly attending his games…

But _Granger_… 

“I know Lucius seems the perfect combination of prig and twat,” Hermione continued (because she was only one year older than him, and he only called her ‘Healer Granger’ in his private fantasies…), “but Gryffindor won the match. What on earth could he have said to provoke you so?” 

“Can’t tell.” He tried to give the appearance of nonchalance as she touched a damp cloth to his face, applying gentle pressure as she cleaned around his eye… Then moved to his cheek. Fuck, that still hurt. He fought to stifle a flinch…

But she noticed. “Sorry,” she murmured, smoothing her cleansing strokes even more. “Madam Pomfrey tells me I still need to work on my touch with patients, and Mum always accused me of never being aware of my own strength.” 

“’S’fine,” he said, voice lower and more croaky than he’d wanted…or maybe he _did_… if that flicker of… of… damnit, what as that? Something flashed in her chocolate irises just then, but he couldn’t determine what. “I think you’re doing brilliant. Though, you’ve only had to set broken arms and legs for me, and you used cleansing spells before. Never had the pleasure of a witch other than Mum cleaning my face before.” 

_Now_ he could tell her cheeks were flushed. They were  _definitely_ dusted with pink now, and his chest swelled so it seemed it would burst. 

“Well,” she huffed, moving down to wipe at his lips, brows furrowed in concentration, “perhaps you shouldn’t make a habit of starting fights.” 

“ _He_ s tarted it,” James countered, shoving her hand away, reveling and puffing again at the widening of her eyes. “Malfoy insulted your blood by calling you that vile name, and I decided he needed a lesson in manners.” 

Several awful things happened all at once. First, Hermione dropped the bloodied damp rag on his chest. Second, instead of picking it up, or reaching to cradle his face and reward his stand of her honour with a proper snog (busted lip be damned), her arms folded over her chest. Third, her look of concerned concentration morphed into one of irritation.  _Angry_ irritation. 

“What in the name of Merlin? James Potter, I’m perfectly capable of standing up for myself and proving such racial slurs inaccurate and untrue!” 

“Not if you’re not there to hear it.” He was smirking now and it still bloody hurt, but he was right, and bugger everything, but it felt good to have her all riled up at him. Her stray curls crackled with angry magic. Godric help him, she was so. damn. perfect. “And frankly, I’d love to debate all the complexities of this with you, but it’s possible the Malfoy knob may have bruised a rib with that last kick he got in before McGonagall pulled him off. So, if you wouldn’t mind, let’s get this Quidditch jersey off me, and you can give me a more _thorough_ check-up, and agree to save this discussion over a round of butterbeers at Hogsmead this weekend.” 

She moved from his bed in stuttered, shocked steps, even as the pink in her cheeks darkened and her eyes blew even wider. Said reactions all only served to deepen his smirk. “What d’you say, then, Hermione?” He pushed himself up the propped pillows. “One round do debate me to your heart’s content? Though, I should warn you, I’ve been friends with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin six years now, and am fully versed in the art of a proper verbal spar.”

“Merlin,” she huffed, that perfect blush spreading to her neck. Her arms folded over her chest again, and she rocked back-and-forth on her heels, eyes darting back to Madam Pomfrey’s office. 

“I think it should be Poppy checking on you from here…” she started, and he tried to keep himself from deflating at her apparent rejection, “…But if you’re still interested in enlightening me to your point of view on the merits of fighting bullies and prats…” She paused, nibbling on her lip and hope bloomed in his chest. “Look, I don’t know if this would be breaking any policies or not, but I suppose there’s no harm in a butterbeer. But just one, mind you.” 

With that, she turned on her heel, marching off to fetch the matron, her hips swaying deliciously as she moved. 

Hang it all, but there was no way he would let all this end with only one date. He’d keep seeing Hermione again, even if it meant he injured himself every Quidditch practice from now until the end of the school year…


End file.
